This morning I read a Leo Buscaglia Christmas book
Seven Stories of Christmas Love. I no sooner finished the last page than Sharon dropped in to visit and I passed the library book along to her since she's a Leo B fan also. [Sharon don't read the next paragraph until you've finished the last story]
I was especially moved by the last story in the book since it was an adult life incident where he had a heart attack just before Christmas and his family wanted to cancel Christmas until he could join them. He, of course, insisted that they carry on as planned, especially for the children in the family. It was poignant to me because that is what he ultimately died of about a decade later at age 74 - June 12 1998 - to be exact.
His delightful book not only made me miss Leo whom I met once when he was speaking in Tucson in the early nineties, but it made me miss all the loved ones I shared Christmas with (like my mom, my uncle, my brother-in-law). I had him autograph his
Freddie the Leaf
for my grandson A.J. who was a toddler at the time. There was a long, long line both in front of me and behind. One of the organizers told me he would stay to greet everyone no matter how long it took. I cried. He looked so tired. I wanted to tell everyone waiting to give him a break and go home, but I didn't.
I didn't mean this to be sad when I started writing.
'Tis the season to miss those gone before us, perhaps.
